"Really, George!" expostulated Mrs. Carmichael, not without
indignation, "one would think you were about to disinter the most
horrible family skeleton. You are not to be alarmed, Mr. Travers. It
is all a little mysterious, perhaps, but nothing to make _such_ a fuss
about."
The Colonel looked up under the sting of her reproach and tried to
smile.
"I dare say my wife is right," he said. "I am rather foolish about the
matter--possibly because it is all linked together with a very painful
period of my life. Mr. Travers, my dearest friend, Steven Caruthers,
had _no_ children. The baby girl whom by his will he intrusted to my
care was not his child, nor have I ever been able to discover whose
child she really was. His will spoke of her as his adopted daughter,
who was to bear his name and in fault of any other heir to inherit
both his own and his wife's large fortune. More I can not tell you,
for I myself do not know more."
He laid an almost timid emphasis on the word "know," as though
somewhere at the back of his mind there lurked a suspicion which he
dared neither deny nor express openly, and, in spite of his attempt at
cheerfulness, his features were still disturbed and gloomy.
"You know one thing more, which you haven't mentioned," Mrs.
Carmichael said, "and that is that Lois is of good family on both
sides. Steven Caruthers told you so."
"Yes, that's true--I forgot," the Colonel assented.
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